


Fake It and Break It

by chirrups



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dave's Bro's Bad Parenting, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Escapism, Gaslighting, Gen, Heavy Angst, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, ask for other tags if needed, dwindling sanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chirrups/pseuds/chirrups
Summary: This is routine. Everything in their household works like clockwork.





	Fake It and Break It

Shoot. They’re out of band-aids.  
A small boy sat on the bathroom floor, looking to be around the age of five.  
Sleepy eyes adorned dark circles. Pale skin accented scars, wounds, and bruises alike.  
A bloody nose and a little sniffle accompanied the tear of paper to free the _f_ _inal_ band-aid.  
  
Strifing had always been hard on him, always hurt, and was always scary.  
The noise of metal clashing and scraping never failed to make his teeth clatter, and small hands shake in fear.  
Still, the boy strives to beat his brother.  
To make him proud.  
  
Bloody hands rub at bruised and damp cheeks, another sniffle sounds as he scrounges around the cabinets for anything to help his aches.  
Sleep hasn’t come easy, but it rarely does when school means hiding and home means fighting.  
He’s a smart boy, but he’s so often to fall asleep during his class.  
His mind ventures back, to the time his Bro was so angry with him.

To his teacher calling the man to school because “Dave kept sleeping in class.”  
She’d not known the trouble it’d cause, mostly with the falsely concerned tone his big brother put on.

If she had, maybe she would have let it be.  
  
Tiny fingers move, fall upon an almost healed wound. Once having been stitched closed here in this very bathroom.

It hurts to touch even through his shirt.  
He’d lost that strife, which only angered his guardian more. He’d never seen the man scowl, and he wishes that he will not see it again so long as he lives.  
  
He fears this man, truly, but he’s a child.

Children love things without knowing when it’s wrong, or when they’re being hurt.  
His Bro is his home, his safety, and the one who provides him with love and care.  
There’s a sorry lack in the latter three, but you’d never know that with how much this boy adores his brother.  
  
“Hey, Bro?” Comes an unsteady voice.  
“What?” It’s not scolding, not stern, instead, it’s void of everything. Which is only scarier.  
“Do we have any more band-aids in the kitchen?”  
“Ain’t you getting a little too old for band-aids, kid?”  
Sickening worries are momentarily shushed when he hears footsteps leading to the said kitchen. A cabinet opens, there’s a little ruckus, then in a simple blink, the man is in front of him.  
“You’re a fuckin’ mess.” The drawl was like a million needle pricks to his wounded skin. Far from pleasant, as instead it made him nauseous.

His brother was not pleased with his sorry state.

What if he makes him strife again?

He doesn't want to get hurt anymore. Not today.

 _Please._  
  
“Sorry,” The young one apologies as the other crouches down to assist in the clean-up.

It at least confirms there's no need for his pleas, another strife is not due.

For now.

  
For all this man could read Dave, and read him well he does, big red hued eyes could read Bro all the same.  
Dave’s unaware of how that frightens the elder. Of how that makes him fear his mask has slipped, or that he’s become weak and predictable.  
For this kid he’s raised, this tiny thing too small for even a five-year-old, is the only person who’s ever known what he’s thinking.  
Nothing was more __horrifying__.  
  
Fear was a funny word.  
One this household scorned, yet was a mutual constant.  
A young boy who fears being too loud, messing up, and sleeping.  
An older man who fears losing his mask to something so weak, but he fears _himself_ more _._  
It’s uncertain, just how this man feels about this kid of his.

Before the boy could remember, he’d once been so kind to him.

Gentle with a small and fragile being.  
Perhaps Dave did remember these things, for, in his dreams of a place called Neverland, his brother was kind.

  


Dave's mind wandered to that brother.

The one who was younger would give him little smiles, laugh and play.

The one who'd never hurt him, protect him instead.

Dirk was safety in the purest form, and there was nothing more Dave craved.

Nothing more he __needed__.  
  
Or perhaps, it’s merely a longing for acceptance. His dreamland.  
For affection, too. Both the boy’s been starved of.

Food an entirely different issue, his current diet poorly supported him.

His short height, even for his age, and skinny body made that apparent.  
Most people assumed money problems, so they’d say nothing in fear of causing the young one embarrassment.

If they had known the true state that such a young boy lived, it would be undoubtful he’d be torn away from the only home he’s known.

Dave tries not to think about that.

He doesn't want to live without his Bro.

He imagines, __hopes__ , his Bro feels the same.  
  
That is something Dave knows, though. That he'll be taken away, should anyone find out.  
It is something his brother told him, straight off the bat.

His brother would whisper things like, “if you desire to stay with me, you will keep your mouth shut about our home life. Or else they’ll take you away from me.” But it would be followed by sweet words, “I love you. I don't want to lose you. You won't leave me, right, Lil' Man?”  
Dave took the manipulation to save his Bro's hide as love. As being wanted.  
So he never breathes a word.

Because he loves his brother.

He won't leave him.  
  
Even so, when teachers notice bruises, CPS is commonly called.

They've been through the routine so many times. It's sickening how good of a liar someone so young has become.  
Dave plays his part well, every time.

Purposefully trips often, allowing himself to get more banged up.

Letting Bro pretend to be the loving man he wants him to be.  
They __always__ fall for the act.  
Seeing a man void of emotion, so strong and poised- but also kind of douchey-, suddenly cradle a crying kid. Softly shooshing him and holding him for the rest of the visit.

They always apologize for the intrusion, tell Dave he should be happy to be in such a loving home.  
Yet, the moment they leave, Dave’s shoved away; and everything returns to how it was.

Strifes almost always follow swiftly.

“It'd be weird if you stopped getting hurt, but that doesn't mean you can slack off.” The usual excuse.

Simple routine.  
  
Even now, as the man rubs the blood off of torn up skin, tears prick the boy’s eyes.  
The assistance isn’t one he enjoys.

Bro never fails to patch him up perfectly, but it always hurts so bad that he cries for even longer.  
Skin is usually rubbed raw and irritated to remove evidence of blood.

Band-aids usually put on too tight, ripped off too harshly for such fragile skin.  
There’s even a yelp as a harsh scrub goes right across one of the cuts upon the small boy’s arms.

No apology sounds, only a noise of irritation.  
A silent order for him to grow up.

  


It feels like hours that he's sitting here, with his brother silently 'tending' his wounds.

Assuming you could call it that.

His skin is red within no time, face stained with more tears.

New bruises had surfaced on his arm just from the cleanup, Bro would tighten his hold every time Dave jerked, whined, or sobbed.

He'd done a lot of all that, anyways, but finally, it's over.

The man stands up, washes off his hands and gives the bathroom a once-over, looking right through the sniffling mess on the floor; also known as his kid.  
  
The man says one final thing,  
“Clean this mess up.” Before he’s gone off in a blink of the eye yet again.  
Leaving someone so small, alone. As was routine.

Dave assumed that he's gone to his room, the door will likely be locked until he feels another strife is due.

That, or there will be a trap laid out to cause the kid more harm than experience.

 _As was routine._  
  
Dave’s body is heavy with pain and a lack of sleep.

Yet here he is anyways, on bruised knees picking up band-aid wrappers and scrubbing blood free from the bathroom tile.  
His body is worse off than usual, but it’s Friday night.

So he has all weekend to heal up before school.  
Unless he does something horribly wrong, for the next two days he can rest.

He even decides to skip tonight's bath, mostly in fear the water will burn his aches more than soothe them.

  
A tiny body works its way tiredly to his room.

Dave slings off his ruined clothes, not caring where they end up in his pained state.

Instead, he tugs on just a shirt, it hangs mid-thigh on such a lithe frame.

He tugs himself up onto his tiny twin bed, but only looks smaller in comparison.  
Sleep usually comes swift with the promise of his wonderland, but tonight it drags out.

Hours go by, his body shakes with sobs that he silences into his pillow.

  


A few times he'd whimper too loud, grow dead still and beg life to not have his brother slam through the door and scream at him.

Which, is a little funny.

Bro has never yelled at him, he's never even heard the man raise his voice.

Well, unless he's trying to get Dave's attention, of course.

Maybe he fears the day Bro is so mad that he does yell, though.

  


He just curls up tighter, closes his eyes and begs sleep to take him.

It takes a while. Takes a lot of fighting off some bad thoughts.

Soon enough, it does save him from them.

It soothes his pain better than love could, he thinks.  
  
The man, however, is not asleep.

He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, perched on the roof of the building.

Legs hanging over the edge.  
He used to fear the lack of a fence, horrified of a baby Dave toppling over the edge.

Such fears no longer haunt him.

His mind questions if such a small thing would be safer if all those years ago, he had fallen. Right to his death.  
Does he care for the boy?

Dave always gives him those big smiles whenever he tosses him even the most horrible excuse of praise.

The kid who's got a sparkle in his eye that Bro's only seen on one other person.

His heart aches, an old feeling he thought he'd not have again.

There's a thick swallow, another deep exhale.  
No.  
  
He could never love something that weak.  
Something that useless. __Something so much like himself__ _._

That is one thing he knows for sure.

  


With a grunt, legs are pulled up and he stands.

There is no worry for falling over, his body easily steadiest itself upon such a little ledge.

Instead, there's a quiet noise every time his feet fall on the stairs as he makes his way back down to the apartment.

Gloved hands feel no need to grab onto any railing, unlike Dave.

The kid basically has to pull himself up on such steep steps.

He still remembers fearing he'd drop him when he brought him home the first time.

  


Dave is peacefully unaware of the presence in his room.

Any other day, Bro would have woke him up and dragged his tired ass right back up to the roof for this obliviousness-

but lately, he hasn't had the heart to do it.

He just leans against the door frame, stares at the kid he once loved to death and now...

Does he want Dave dead?

It's happened twice, that he's almost killed the boy.

  


When he was called to school the strife that followed was the worst out of them all.

He lost his control that day.

His hands still twitch at the memory of how much blood there was. Of how he'd only seen that much come from a healthy adult, not a __child whose skin and bones__.

Bro's unsteady with that memory. Unsure how he feels.

The way Dave was completely silent was the most electrifying part.

No cries. No sniffles. No screams. Not even a __whimper__.

  


How he's laying now, seems so much like that. Small little breaths, he looks almost dead.

But there's a smile.

Lately, there's been a smile on his face as he sleeps.

Bro doesn't understand. That's why he's started to watch him.

What's the little shit planning?

Why is it that his death-defying fear of sleep is suddenly replaced by him craving it and __smiling__?

Even as a baby, Bro specifically remembers Dave would wake up screaming after sleep.

He also remembers a kid who'd beg to lay down with him.

Yet none of that happens anymore.

It's infuriating.

  


There's a long, quiet pause.

Then Bro can't stand that look on Dave's face, and his body moves.

In one swift motion, he's got a handful of the kid's shirt, about to jerk him awake,

but then he's gone, and Dave continues to sleep.

Blissfully unaware of the punishment he narrowly escaped.

  


The weekend was over too fast.

Walking into school reminded Dave of just how much he did not want to be here.

He was hurting so bad. His chest hurt the most, every breath he took burned like something was prying his bones open.

Just walking there, he had to go straight into one of the supply closets.

Closed the door, locked it.

  


He fell right down to his knees. The pain of the hard hit to bruises didn't even reach his mind in time.

Instead, he's focused on how much his chest hurts.

He __throws__ his backpack away, knocks over a few things and just lays down.

Curls up tight as he cries.

Little hand pressed over his mouth and nose so hard he can barely breathe through snot, drool, and tears that sop his sleeve. Everything hurts so bad.

He wants it to stop.

 _He needs it to stop_.

  


Shaky hands fish for his phone, eyes almost too blurry to find the name he needs.

 _ _'cant do it today'__ He somehow manages to type those words out through his shakes.

Before he can hit send, there's a knock on the door. A voice he knows too well follows.

“Dave! Come on! I know you're hiding.”

John. Dammit.

Dave feels himself almost break down screaming at the boy he loves to death.

He wants to scream and yell at him to fuck off until his voice doesn't work.

But instead, he sits up. Cleans his face up and deletes his text.

Soon enough he looks normal again, shades hiding the obvious look of pure pain in his eyes.

  


He had already sobbed at Bro this morning. He'd woken up with a big blood stain on his bed coming from his side.

Of course, it wasn't really that big. More like a few drops, but to Dave, it was too much.

He threw up the second he saw it.

His Bro forced him to clean everything up, then did a quick patch-up of the slightly torn wound.

That would normally be more than enough for a kid to stay home, even if they had painkillers.

Dave had nothing, not even food or drink, and was forced to go to school anyways.

  


That's why he wants to scream at John.

Because he knows, his friend probably saved him from sending a text that would have made him hurt only worse than this tomorrow.

As much as he hates school, at least it's away from Bro.

That still doesn't mean he enjoys it.

  


His classes are boring. Dreary and blank.

Dave aces every test put in front of him, even if he ignores everything his teacher says.

After all, studying helps him take the focus off how bad he hurts.

It's become a handy coping method.

Still, a poor substitute for things that could actually help him.

  


John asks him over, but as always he says no.

John then instead asks if he can go to Dave's, but that's turned down so quickly it startles even Jade.

Rose is like a dagger to a back in catching it.

She grabs Dave's hand to get his attention for a moment.

“Is your brother mean to you?” John looked guilty, like a silent apology to Dave.

Dave shook his head, jerked his hand away.

“No! Jeez, Rose. He's too cool! He's like those knights in all our video games.”

“Oh, he sounds so cool!” Jade chirps, jumps up for a short moment before she decides... Nah.

She'd rather lay back down on the gym bleachers some more.

This game of dodgeball sucked.

It hurt.

  


John knows about all of it.

He knows about the abuse, the state that Dave has and is struggling to survive in.

He knows how hard it is, and does everything he can.

But John is socially inept.

He doesn't think to tell anyone.

Not even his dad.

Who already is worried about his son's best friend. Already tempted to contact CPS and really press it.

Yet, his son doesn't prompt it, so he dismisses his keen parental senses.

It's not his place, right?

  


If Dave knew how easy it would be to get out, if he knew that he'd be safe, he'd still not go.

It's a sick, sick reality, but he cannot live without his Brother.

Today only proves it. Only strengthens how dependent Dave is on that man.

  


Bro had picked him up from school.

Bro eve carried him up the stairs.

Dave knows it's only because he was taking too long, but he enjoyed being close to his brother, getting that dumb piggyback ride up countless flights.

He got to stay just like that for over five minutes, and he loved every single second of having his nose pressed against the man's shoulder.

Dave's unaware that Bro counted each heartbeat, that maybe he was a little worried he'd pushed him too hard today.

Not for Dave's sake, no. For the sake of he might have gotten __caught__.

So maybe he didn't just leave Dave behind because he needs Dave to love him.

So that he will do anything for him.

  


And yes. Dave will do _a_ _ _nything__ for him.

There is never any doubt about that. Even as Bro sets Dave down on the bed, __his__ bed. In __his__ room.

Which is usually locked tight.

Dave looks too scared to move, and Bro feels this sick twinge of enjoyment from the obedience fear got him.

Today isn't a time for using that against Dave, though.

  


Instead, there's a larger male moving to lay behind him, Dave's not even trying to move.

Bro moves him, exactly where he should go.

Dave finally relaxes, goes limp in contentment as he realizes his Bro is letting him nap with him.

Letting him snuggle as close as he wanted.

  


This is routine.

Everything in their household works like clockwork.

Strifes that are so harsh Dave can't cover his pain even after the weekend and there's a chance to get caught, will always be followed up with a nap like this.

It always works, too.

It always makes Dave work harder to hide his pain behind the mask his brother taught him.

Behind the shades his brother gave him.

To dismiss any ideas that his brother is anything but the sweetest man to him.

  


Dave just doesn't know it's manipulation.

Maybe that's a good thing, or else someone so young might have gone crazy by now.

Then again, maybe that's why he dreams of Neverland.

Because, he's so deprived of every basic need, he's lost his mind.

Maybe 'Neverland' is his brain trying to fulfill the needs required for him to live.

  


Dave won't complain.

Sleep takes him quickly, and he's there with Dirk in no time.

All the while, he's safely tucked away in his Bro's arms.

Forever unaware of how he's used.

**Author's Note:**

> this had originally been posted on my other account under a different name, so if you've read it before: h-hewwo uwu


End file.
